


Sherlock Holmes: Man of Iron

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Sherlock Holmes is Tony Stark, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:13:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8752930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tony had been trapped in the Victorian Era for six years.He had gotten stuck there when his experiment with temporal energy turned sour, backfiring on him and sending him far into the past. He had landed in the comfortable home of a man called Mycroft, who was intrigued and agreed to help. He had helped the former (future?) billionaire find a flat, and provided him with a fake identity.¬Sherlock Holmes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I think a lot of the chapters are going to be pretty short, so, sorry about that in advance.

Dr. Watson sighed as he heard yet another explosion from the floor above. He hung up his coat and hat, before walking resignedly up the stairs to Holmes’ lab. He tentatively opened the door.

 

Holmes lay sprawled on the floor, and whatever he had been working on was smoking on the table. Watson sighed, and walked over to the unconscious man. His pulse was steady in his wrist.

 

“Holmes,” he growled in the detective’s ear.

 

Holmes groaned slightly, but didn’t wake up.

 

“ _Holmes!”_ Watson repeated, somewhat louder this time.

 

“JARVIS?” muttered Holmes.

 

“Watson, actually,” replied the unimpressed doctor.

 

“Watson?” Holmes seemed dazed, and his accent had slipped from British to American. “When did you get here?”

 

Watson raised an eyebrow. “Just now. What did you do this time?”

 

Holmes slowly came back to himself. He looked to the smoking remains of his experiment and cursed under his breath. “I was so close.”

 

"Close to what?"

 

Holmes ignored him. "Just a little more time," he muttered, "I can do it."

 

Watson frowned. “What are you talking about? And happened to your accent?”

 

Holmes started, then looked guilty. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he replied quickly. His usual British tone was back.

 

“Never mind,” Watson sighed. He had long since given up on demanding answers from Holmes when he seemed determined to hide them.

 

Holmes looked again at the wreckage of his work, and wondered to himself if he would ever get home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may go back and change this later, because it's mostly just explanation with no dialogue, and I know that's not very exciting, but I'm getting there.

Tony had been trapped in the Victorian Era for six years.

He had gotten stuck there when his experiment with temporal energy turned sour, backfiring on him and sending him far into the past. He had landed in the comfortable home of a man called Mycroft, who was intrigued and agreed to help. He had helped the former (future?) billionaire find a flat, and provided him with a fake identity.

¬Sherlock Holmes.

The irony was not lost on Tony. He had adored the books as a child, and had grown up attempting to copy Holmes’ cool, logical outer shell.

He was, therefore, utterly amused when he met a struggling author: a certain Arthur Conan Doyle, under the guise of Sherlock Holmes. Watson agreed to allow young Doyle to publish the account of his and Tony’s work after their deaths, and Tony reflected that it was appropriate that his hero had turned out to merely be himself. Watson had all the dealings with the author, who had seemed to take a great dislike to Tony’s Holmes. Tony wondered if that was why he changed his character’s appearance, from short and scruffy to tall and sleek; so as not to remind himself that the man was real.

Mycroft insisted that Tony not influence too much of the past, so between cases Tony sat in his flat, suffocating in the boredom that lay thick in the air. He had begun to observe, joking to himself that if he was going to be Holmes, he may as well hone the skill Holmes was famous for: deductions.

Mycroft was surprisingly helpful for that particular venture. He and Tony would sit and observe, occasionally breaking the silence to comment on how Mrs. What’s-her-name was involved in an unhappy marriage, or how so-and-so was cruel to his son.

It was because of this that Tony had perfected his detective skills, and had almost forgotten about returning home. Recently, as the anniversary marking his sixth year trapped drew closer, he had been trying to build a way to his twenty-first century once more. 

When Watson had found him, he had been incredibly close to replicating his temporal mishap in reverse, which was impressive given his lack of modern resources. 

He wondered vaguely from the floor what it would be like to return to the 21st century. He wasn’t entirely sure he could go from ‘detective Sherlock Holmes’ to ‘billionaire Tony Stark’. The longer he spent in this time period, the more he became a part of it. 

When he was alone, he would talk to himself, just to ensure he kept the American accent. It took him a while to realize he had begun mentally referring to himself as ‘Holmes’ instead of ‘Tony’. He was even growing attached to the fashion of the age (especially the hats). 

He wasn’t planning on telling anyone in the 21st century of his little excursion through time. He had even grown a habit of blocking his face whenever a camera came near. No evidence. One thing he would have to explain would be his hair. It had grown much shaggier, and he’d had to shave his goatee. He decided to cross that bridge when he came to it.

Until then, London needed ridding of crime, and Sherlock Holmes was just the man for the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave comment/kudos?


	3. Chapter 3

It was a rainy day when Holmes ( _No, not ‘Holmes’. ‘Tony’_ he reminded himself) perfected his ticket home. The wind howled and the rain beat the windows ferociously, as if reminding him what he was about to give up.

 

_How very poetic,_ he thought to himself dryly, _you’re getting emotional in your old age._

 

Watson had moved out. He had married and moved on, but still visited Holmes on occasion. If he ever called on the detective again, he find leave a note harpooned to the wall addressed to him:

 

**_My Dear Watson,_ **

****

**_I have left London and shall not be returning. Do not come looking for me, or I am afraid you shall be sorely disappointed._ **

****

Tony paused slightly, wanting to thank the man in some way, give him something in return for his friendship.

 

_‘Sentiment!’_ snapped Holmes.

 

_‘It’s not sentiment, it’s logic!’_ scoffed Tony, _‘a mutual give and take.’_

_‘How does thanking someone give them something?’_

_‘Sorry, Mr. Spock,’_ muttered Tony, _‘but it might be nice for him to know I appreciate him.’_

 

**_Goodbye, Dr. Watson._ **

****

**_It has been a pleasure, and a privilege._ **

****

**_I am, Most Sincerely,_ **

****

**_Sherlock Holmes_ **

****

Holmes through one last look at his home for the last six years. It was messy, and the curtains were drawn against the storm. He activated the device.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

It was a strange feeling. Time whipped by, getting tangled in his hair and tugging at his clothes. An enormous void of nothing closed over him, crumpling around him and circling his arms and legs. He was falling in every direction at once, and his stomach found its way into his feet as his heart climbed into his mouth and his brain rattled noisily in his skull. Seconds shattered at his feet while months and years dripped from his fingertips like rain, and a hard surface curled up around him, swallowing him whole...

 

"Tony?"


	4. Chapter 4

_“Tony?”_

 

Bruce stared in shock at his friend, who looked wild and ragged. His hair was longer, his goatee was gone, and the lines crossing his face were more pronounced.

 

He groaned as he staggered to his feet. He caught sight of Bruce and laughed in relief. “It worked,” he muttered dazedly, “It worked.” His eyesight began to blur, and he glimpsed Bruce’s worried face before he collapsed.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Holmes blinked open his eyes to see the walls of the infirmary he had installed in the Avengers Tower. He struggled to sit up, every bone in his body feeling as though they weighed fifty pounds.

              

“Tony?”

 

Holmes turned at the sound of a man’s voice. _Tony_ … _that’s me,_ he reminded himself. And the man was Bruce, whose forehead was creased with concern.

 

“Bruce,” he rasped. His vision cleared, and he could make out the glasses perched on his friend’s nose. “Long time, no see.”

 

“You saw me yesterday.”

 

“Did I?” he asked distractedly.

 

“Tony, what exactly happened to you?”

 

“What didn’t happen to me?” he muttered, American accent slipping for a moment.

 

“You look older.”

 

“Thanks, Bruce. Just what I needed to hear. Older? Well, six years can do that to a guy.”

 

“Six years?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

Bruce gave him a confused look, but didn’t pursue it. He pronounced Holmes ( _Tony_ , he reminded himself) fit to leave a couple of days later. The billionaire refused to tell anyone what had happened, claiming he had been drinking too late. His goatee grew back over the course of a few months, and he re-familiarized himself with the 21st century, relishing the modern technology at his disposal.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment/kudos?


End file.
